


Morning Smoke

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Series: Fifth Floor Window [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a bad habit already, and with the way things were going, it might just get him killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr halloween 2015 prompt
> 
> This is probably real bad, but. Oops. Sorry, Cor, you deserve a million times better. Threw it into that TimDami Noir ‘verse I kind of have, this takes place after the first two tidbits. Little bit of an implication that the gunman is Colin, but. For another day. Jason and Dick forced the two to take a day off and are watching the office. Damian ‘rescues’ Tim from his smoking with a lot of lazy-day banging and snuggling, but. They both still smoke a bunch in their bed after. Their cat gets very upset with them.

Tim stared at the window across the room. Watched the trees shake in the wind. The silhouettes of the leaves as they whipped away on the breeze. Listened to it howl against the windowpane.

It was cold out, he could tell from here, under the sheets, under Damian’s warm arm. Could see the bit of frost on the edges of the glass. Feel the slight draft.

It was cold out, and their office was closed today. More from Dick and Jason forcing them to take a break, than an actual day off. But a day off they had, and for how many weeks had Tim made offhand comments to Damian, about spending the day in bed together?

He had no business being outside.

But.

He sighed, squeezed at the hand splayed across his torso and turned his head. Damian was still asleep, on his stomach, face buried in the pillow. His hair was a mess – both from sleep and Tim’s fingers – and his black lashes fanned across rosy, dark cheeks. He was a lovely sight, and Tim’s favorite thing to wake up to.

 _This won’t take long_ , he kept telling himself, even as he leaned over, kissed Damian’s nose, and gently slipped out from underneath his grasp. _I’ll be back within ten minutes._

He lamented, though, as he shivered in that draft, searched for his pants and a shirt, that he wasn’t able to quit like Damian had. It’d only taken Damian a few weeks to kick the habit, and here, Tim was going on three _months_.

He shrugged the shirt up his shoulders, only realized it was Damian’s as he darted quietly out of the room. It didn’t matter, just a couple of minutes. He grabbed his trench coat, immediately digging in his pocket for the pack of cigarettes as he descended the stairs.

The air was chilly, and the atmosphere was damp. It was still early, the sun was still rising, but the city was still gray. Still foggy and eerie, especially with the few jack-o-lanterns still burning from the night before being some of the only sources of light. Like a perpetual purgatory, a forever-Halloween, as the wind whipped the edges of his coat.

“I hate you.” He hummed, popping a cigarette from the pack, and holding it between his fingers. “I hate you more than anything in the world.”

He shoved the stick between his lips, shoving his hand back in that pocket for his lighter.

“It’s my day off, you know.” He snapped as he dug. Nothing in that pocket, so he tried the other. “I could have laid in that nice warm bed with that beautiful hunk of a man all day, but _nooo_. You just had to-”

He cut off though, froze completely, when he noticed a shadow in the alleyway across the street. Shoulders hunched, body tense, stock-still. He could have been a statue, if he were standing anywhere but the awkward place of an alleyway entrance. Could have fooled a whole bunch of people.

But then the shadow saw him staring, and darted away.

And day off or not, Timothy Drake was a detective. A _suspicious_ detective.

He kept the unlit cigarette in his mouth as he jumped up, and followed after. And as soon as he hit the alley, he saw the shadow at the other end. A man, for sure. Tall but skinny. But still a shadow, still no features for Tim to remember.

“Hey!” Tim called, jumping through the puddles. “Stop!”

And, surprisingly, the man did. He stopped and turned back, light from the street cutting across his bright brown eyes.

And then, even more surprising, he pulled out a gun.

“Oh, for cryin’ out-”

He shot immediately, and Tim threw himself to the ground, felt the disgusting water slop all over his clothes. He laid there, ducking behind the dumpster, listening as the bullets rang out overhead.

“Crime runs this city, and the more of us you put away, the more enemies you’re making!” The man called, and he sounded younger, almost Damian’s age. “You and your partner better watch yourselves, Drake! Or the next time there won’t be no warning shots!”

As the bullets ran out, Tim heard the useless click of the gun’s trigger a few more times, and then more splashing as the man ran away. Tim stumbled to his feet, chasing after him.

This was the third assassination attempt in a month.

But when he burst out onto the next street, it was like he was on another planet. The fog was much heavier here, the wind almost nonexistent. He heard the car before he saw it, and even then, barely had time to jump out of its path.

The man with the gun was gone.

Tim stood there, catching his breath, looking around. All he could see was the floating orbs of the streetlamps disappearing into the distance, the half-grins of rotting Jack-o-lanterns. A woman appeared out of the haze and he jerked towards her.

“Ma’am, did you see anyone down that way?”

“I don’t care who’s asking.” She scoffed, turned away from him, held her purse tighter. “Ain’t seen nobody.”

She was gone instantly. Back into the smoke like she was a ghost.

And Tim tried, for a few more minutes. Jogged down the street one way, then turned and copied the trail the other way. But he’d been in the business long enough to know when something was futile. Not to mention the water had settled on his clothes, and was starting to make him shiver.

The guy probably wasn’t going to say who he was working for anyway. They never did.

He sighed, and turned dejectedly back towards the alley, feeling along the grimy walls until he could see more than three feet in front of him.

It still felt like the alleyway was some kind of void, and the street where his and Damian’s apartment was, was on another Earth. It didn’t matter, though, as he stomped across the lane, flopped back onto the stoop of his building.

He frowned deeper, when he realized he’d lost his cigarette in the chase.

He dug back into the pocket, pulled out another, and resumed his search for the lighter. The lighter that suddenly decided to be elusive. But it had to be here, there’s nowhere else it _could_ be. He just had to try the other pocket. Maybe, just maybe-

“Need a light?”

He jumped at the voice behind him, spun around to see Damian standing over him, a cigarette between his own pursed lips, and lighter between his fingers.

And Tim smiled as he sat next to him, took in the still tussled hair, the tired eyes, and the exposed chest behind the barely buttoned shirt. “You quit.”

“I didn’t.” Damian replied, burning the end of the stick, offering the flame to Tim, even as he shuddered in the sudden breeze. “I’m just better at _hiding_ it than you are.”

“Of course.” Tim hummed, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. “When did you wake up?”

“When you left. You’re not as quiet as you believe yourself to be.” Damian chuckled. He frowned almost immediately, though. Reached out and brushed Tim’s hair back. “Why are you sweating?” Fingers down Tim’s neck, gripping his shoulder. “Why are you all _wet?_ ”

Tim almost pouted, quirking his lips to the side. “There was a guy watching the apartment. He ran when I saw him.”

“So…your best plan was to run _after_ him?”

“It’s our job.”

“It’s our _day off_.”

“Apparently it’s not for the assassins.” Tim countered as Damian released him. He leaned over almost immediately, squeezed Damian’s arm himself. “And don’t you _dare_ claim you’ve _forgotten_ that night at the office.”

Damian didn’t rise to the bait, just sucked on his cigarette, watching Tim out of the corner of this eye. “Of course I haven’t.”

Tim watched him for a moment, before slumping and pulling away. Inhaling sharply and exhaling the smoke slowly. “…We should be worried, if they’ve found where we live.”

“Probably.” Damian answered. “At the very least, we should call Grayson and Todd. Have them be on the lookout at the office today.”

Tim nodded, held his cigarette up and stared at the end of it. “We should probably go looking for the assassins. Search for evidence. Find who they’re working for.”

“Sure.” Damian bubbled, taking one last puff before slamming the butt of the cigarette against the bottom step. He then pushed his hands against his knees, and moved to stand. “Tomorrow.”

Tim watched him, stared up as Damian brushed off his pants. “Tomorrow?”

“I believe someone mentioned – on more than one occasion – wanting to spend the day with me in bed.” Damian smirked, kicking at the untied belt of Tim’s coat, spinning slowly away and stepping back inside. “And I had planned to _indulge_ him. Unless he no longer wishes to do so?”

“Oh he _does_. He very _much_ does.” Tim laughed, tossing his own cigarette into the puddle on the street as he more or less leapt to his feet. Damian chuckled, stepping back into the apartment building. Tim went to follow, pausing just one more time and glancing back out at the street. One last scan of the fog, of the shadows, of the windy lane. “The assassins can definitely wait.”


End file.
